


For the Tracks and the Glory

by TRikiD



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Battle, Blood and Gore, Grimdark, Robotics, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TRikiD/pseuds/TRikiD
Summary: No longer would they pull and haul simple trucks, coaches or people; no more would they transport building supplies from point a to point b; never again would they be viewed as "old and boring" trains. Now, they were given a chance to destroy, maim and fight—they were built to entertain.
Kudos: 6





	For the Tracks and the Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this story contains intense gore and violence

Starting back in the late 90s, the majority of Britain’s railways gradually went out of business; newer, faster and safer means of transportation were being created all over the world, rendering classic British engines null and void. The two railways that suffered the most in these troubling times were the Great Western Railway and the Sodor Railway. They were the first to officially go out of business, and were desperate to find new ways of earning money and surviving.

Salvation came for them in the early 2000s in the form of shadows from black markets and third parties; illegal gatherings were formed by those who still adored the classic railways and its beloved engines. The fans came up with a way to save their legacy, but at a horrible and bloody price. After multiple risky tests on a few engines, which were generously donated by former railway owner Sir Topham Hatt, upgrades were made in the purpose of giving the engines entirely new motives and abilities. No longer would they pull and haul simple trucks, coaches or people; no more would they transport building supplies from point a to point be; never again would they be viewed as “old and boring” trains.

Now, they were given a chance to destroy, maim and fight—they were built to entertain.

And so was I.

Hello, my name is Jacqueline. I’m a simple L&YR Class 28 like my father; he was a reigning champion in pit fights, so naturally, I inherited his strength and fame. So much great expectation can put quite a weight on one’s shoulders. Such high hopes led me to want to carry my father’s legacy into the next generation, whether that entailed having offspring of my own or getting overthrown in battle.

Whatever fate had in store for me, I couldn’t really care. All I wanted, more than impressing my father, was to feel the rejuvenating adrenaline of fighting to the death, breaking my opponents down to pieces, and bathing in their blood while basking in their screams.

Underground tunnels led me to my destination, which was one of many highly secretive fight clubs meant specifically for engines in this type of business. Those that didn’t fight for people’s amusement were either left to rust, still undergoing upgrades, or somehow managed to find a job slow enough for them to keep up. My driver and fireman bundled up as we came up to a sloping exit to the tunnel, leading into a valley between two frozen mountains. Tonight’s fight was going to be a chilly one, but the raging fire within my firebox burned hot enough to keep me warm for hours on end.

A large, metallic limb suddenly stretched itself out before me, slamming itself into the other end of the tunnel’s exit to prevent me from going any further. The limb belonged to a gritty old diesel engine, who had his tanks raised slightly to expose his arms and claws while on guard duty. He stared at me with distrust, and I glared back threateningly.

The diesel then cackled hoarsely, “Well, if it ain’t Jackie! I thought you was too rich and important ta participate in dirty little events like this.”

“I’ll fight whoever and wherever I want. I’ll fight you, too, if you don’t move.”

The diesel moved forward on his track, rotating on his spinal plating and rising even higher to expose many inner workings and face me. Engines in this position were especially vulnerable, for some of their internal organs were exposed as well; that’s what made these fights even more spine-tingling and nail-biting. He raised his other claw and placed it on the opposite side of the exit, completely blocking my path.

“Is that so? Prove it, then.” He taunted.

I tried staring him down in hopes of paralyzing him with fear, but he was unaffected.

He licked his lips, “Come on, luv! We ain’t got all night!”

My patience was quickly running thin, as my lips curled back and revealed sharpened canines only found in a few select engines. A deep growl emitted from my throat, and I narrowed my eyes until they were nothing but slits of white warning. I could see his stance waver a bit, especially when his smile faltered into a quivering frown. I got him.

“Stop! She’s here for the big tournament! We’d lose too many viewers if she doesn’t show!”

Came a worried and panicked voice of what was likely to be one of the humans who managed fights here, as he ran up the snowy slope to come between me and the diesel. Upon hearing this, the diesel growled and begrudgingly lowered himself into submission, all while staring me dead in the eye. I closed my mouth and stopped growling, but locked eyes with him until he moved out of the way.

My driver and fireman hopped out of my cab to speak with the manager as I slowly pulled out, most likely to collect their entrance fee and sign some papers. Those were the only things engine drivers and firemen were really good for these days; engines no longer needed them to be piloted across railways, so they were only occasionally used for refueling or dealing with smaller human businesses. Most times, I felt like I didn’t need my driver and fireman, but I needed them to handle my arrangements and whatnot.

But with the humans out of harm’s way, it was time for the engines to take over. The show belonged to me and my opponent now, and I won’t disappoint. I could hear the cheers of fans and bettors, as I chuffed down the single dark tunnel leading into the pit. The closer I grew, the more clearly I could hear the spectator announce my presence.

“In this corner, comes the slick, ruthless killer—the blood-bathin’ engine herself—Red Jack!”

A blinding light waited for me upon entering the pit, followed by deafening cheers, stomps and screams; most screams were filled with my stage name, one that I earned over time after getting covered in so much blood during fights so easily.

“And in this corner, thunderin’ in with wasp colors—the unforgiving ground breaker—Madhouse Mavis!”

The other half of the audience that didn’t cheer for me let out roars of excitement for my opponent, as a British Rail Class 04 thundered in; the messily-painted black and yellow stripes around her face indeed represented that of a wasp; black paint also surrounded her eyes and dripped down her mouth, giving her a skull-like appearance; as a finishing touch to her rugged appearance, a vicious assortment of blades and swords were lodged into the top of her tank and cab. She lived up to her name, for her pupils had shrunk down to pinpricks after so many years of witnessing and bringing death upon others; her smile had also become elongated and crooked, showing off her mangled teeth.

Almost simultaneously, Mavis and I began rising from our lower support base, creating an arch in our backs and extending our unnaturally long, metallic arms and claws that are usually tucked away underneath our tanks. Our heads were angled downward and granted rotation, extending our peripheral vision to a much faster level. In this stage, our heads were completely disconnected from the fire box/generator to prevent any damage to said mechanical parts, as well as prevent using up any reserve energy too quickly.

With the two of us finally in the ring and at the ready, the spectator began wrapping up his introduction, “Are you ready?! Three…two…one…FIGHT!!!”

Although cliché and predictable, my first reaction was to sprint right down the track in the middle that led to Mavis; in order to provide more mobility during fights, special circular tracks were built to allow us to turn and move around quickly, whether on defense or on offense. Mavis had the same idea, however, and lunged at me with equal strength; our claws collided with a loud clang, causing sparks to fly from the scraping metal while we locked our brakes to try and push each other over.

Pushing an opponent off the track was also very predictable, even to the point that if it ever happened, the fight wasn’t declared over. As long as the engine picked itself up and realigned itself on the track, the fight would be far from over. Instead of going for another cliché, I twisted my left arm around Mavis’ right, yanking upward with my body until I heard a loud snap. Mavis cried out in pain, as her broken arm was untangled from mine and she rolled back a few feet. She clutched it in pain before glaring daggers at me, and baring her haggish teeth with an equally haggish growl.

While she was dazed and confused, I lunged at her again, this time managing to get the upper leg and smashing her against the stone pit wall. Our wheels screeched beneath us as we fought for dominance, but I was quickly pushing her harder against the wall, creating more cracks in the concrete. But when Mavis was shoved below me, she clamped her jagged teeth down on my spinal guard, even ripping a metal rib from its place before diving back in. I banged my fists on her tanks to get her to stop, but she only dug her teeth in further. If she wanted to play this way, then so be it.

I bared my sharpened canines as well, and lodged them into the shoulder of her broken arm. She screeched in agony again, releasing her teeth and using all her strength to push me off. I was pushed out into the middle of the ring, as Mavis was beginning to use drastic measures. She ripped her broken arm off and tossed it at me as a distraction, using this opportunity to pull some small blades from her cab with her remaining hand.

She held one knife in her hand at a time while placing the rest between her teeth, throwing each of them at me at blinding speed. Being such a big target, most knives were either able to graze my face and leave a big gash, but the last one impaled itself in my cheek when I turned my head at the last second. The blade cut at the inside of my mouth, leaving a deep cut in my tongue and a gaping hole in the side of my face when I pulled it out.

It was my turn to live up to my name as blood dripped down my face like a waterfall, and pooled at my buffers like crimson jewels. But it didn’t hurt; not enough to bring me down, at least. It was time to call in reinforcements. I arched my back and placed my claws on the ground, like a lion ready to pounce, and my side tanks were rearranged once more to release a second set of mechanical arms and claws.

The crowd became more excited and Mavis was more intrigued, but all the more cautious of me as well. Mavis took a different track to get beside or behind me, but I backhanded her with my extra right limb, knocking her off the track and onto her side. I, too, took another track to get a better aim at her, but she was one step ahead of me.

Some engines could temporarily disconnect their upper halves from their bases when cornered, and Mavis was one such engine; her spine was disconnected with a loud snap and lingering hiss, as smoke and dust arose from her generator. With her remaining arm, she ripped a large sword from her back and leapt at me, clinging to me like a mosquito desperate for blood. She might as well have been said insect when she sank her teeth into my boiler. She thrashed and pulled to tear me apart, all while rocking herself about to try and knock me over. Whenever I tried to pry her off, she effortlessly chopped my hands off with her sword. By the time she finally managed to tip me over, three of my four hands were cut off, and she then drove her sword into my exposed torso beneath my tanks.

I lay there, helplessly squirming on my side as Mavis continued pushing and twisting her sword into me, and stopped biting my boiler to crawl up to my face and stare directly into my eyes. She stared and flashed her bloody, crooked teeth, all in an attempt to tear whatever dignity I had left in my final moments. I had two options: Lay down and die, or throw in the towel and surrender.

I never needed either option before, and I wasn’t going to start now.

My remaining hand shot up and plunged itself into her mouth, cutting into her lower jaw and ripping out the bone with a crimson splash. The shock caused Mavis to lose her mind in seconds flat, so I ripped her off and pinned her below me, pulling the sword from my torso and plunging it between her eyes. Mavis’ eyes rolled back into her skull, and her body squirmed and twitched like a chicken without a head.

The crowd was filled with astonishment long before Mavis’ body finally gave out, and I clutched the wound in my torso while looking up and around at my old and new fans. I wanted to have some fun with the bettors that lost, so I lifted the sword to hold Mavis’ head and upper body high enough for the audience to see.

Madhouse Mavis was only one of many engines I had brutally taken down before, as well as many engines I would inevitably defeat in the near future. To those I have not yet come across, I only have one thing to say to you, “Red Jack has all the winning hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys want me to continue this story, don't hesitate to let me know. I'm not sure where to go with story right now, so I'm just gonna leave it here. Hope you liked it!


End file.
